


the family sword

by penhaligon



Category: The Vagrant Trilogy - Peter Newman
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 00:23:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11093031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penhaligon/pseuds/penhaligon
Summary: "Vesper's gotten to you, hasn't she?" He thinks about a scarred face under his hands and a faded memory of what it used to look like, intent on a baby cradled in tired arms. "They have that effect on people."





	the family sword

A rhythmic rustle fills the kitchen. Vesper’s hands run over the sword's sheath with a damp cloth, sometimes scraping away grime with more forceful scratching. It is background music to her tales of recent endeavors in the Shining City and beyond, her voice at once tired and animated. Harm listens and puts careful effort into holding his tongue, but his silence and his hands betray him. The old gift from Vesper is still around his neck, even though she’s been home for a while, and absent anything to hold, one hand fidgets with the necklace.

Vesper’s steady stream of words slows to a trickle, then nothing at all. There is a sense of movement, a displacement of air and a creaking of old wood as she gets up to retrieve the sword from the table. A long chink of metal on metal signifies when she slides it back into its sheath, her cleaning finished. Harm sits somewhat guiltily in his chair, knowing that Vesper can tell what he thinks, more or less. That damned sword.

He wonders where she gets her optimism. Certainly not from her father. And probably not from Harm, either. He's less grim than his partner, but he can't bring himself to believe that the Empire is salvageable. Privately, he thinks that it is better off burned to the ground, and let something else grow in its place, a forest restored by fire. But he's not going to say that out loud, especially not now, when the edges of Vesper's voice are fraying and exposing some of her confidence as forced.

"I get it, you know," Harm says gently, hoping to mend one or two of those tattered threads. "Why you have to try. You have my complete support, you know that, right?"

Vesper shuffles over to him, the folds of her loose-fitting clothes whispering as they brush together. "I know," she says. One of her hands rests on Harm's shoulder as she leans down to give him a kiss on the cheek, and he reaches up to find it, resting his own hand over it. "Thank you."

They flinch in unison when a crash floats down from upstairs, a wail on its heels. Vesper's hand withdraws from Harm's shoulder, and an ill-contained sigh rides out on her breath. Harm grimaces in sympathy. Vesper is accustomed to attending to the needs of thousands, not one, and her unease is palpable. Before he can offer to tend to the commotion himself or suggest that maybe Jem has it handled, he feels something being pressed against his lap.

"Could you hold this?" Vesper asks distractedly. The sword shudders in Harm's hands, protesting the separation. "I'll be right back."

Harm listens to Vesper leave, her footsteps reluctant against the stairs, in contrast to his memory of little feet taking them as quickly as possible. Sometimes he swears that he can still hear her stomping around up there, taking childish delight in the hollow echo. Maybe those sounds will become a daily reality again, if Reela is anything like her mother, and Harm smiles at the thought. The expression is wiped away, however, when he remembers what rests in his hands now.

Cautiously, he runs his fingers over the sheath, finding its grooves and worn areas, drifting dangerously close to the cross-guard. It isn't often that he's in proximity to Gamma's blade... or Gamma, if it really is the last vestiges of her. "I know you don't like me very much," he says frankly. "Would you like me to put you down?"

To his surprise, he hears a faint metallic creak over the distant sound of Reela's howling. It's musical, more vibration than noise, and something sharp-edged but careful touches his hand - the tip of one of the sword's wings. He can hear the silent apology, feel the faint impression of contrition creeping into his mind now that he's touching the sword proper.

"Suns," Harm says softly, hardly able to believe it, as the wing retreats. "Vesper's gotten to you, hasn't she?" He thinks about a scarred face under his hands and a faded memory of what it used to look like, intent on a baby cradled in tired arms. Understanding replaces surprise. "They have that effect on people."

The sword vibrates again. Harm has plenty of experience with silent conversation, and he knows that the second tremor is agreement.

Maybe there's hope for some in the Empire after all, he muses. But a fresh wave of worry descends, for his daughter, his granddaughter, his partner, his son, for their family's precarious position in this dangerous world, and his hands convulse around the sheath. It's no use trying to hide it from the sword, either. Harm rubs a thumb against one of the kinks in the metal, sighing. The sheath is littered with small flaws acquired from years and battles and travels that the sword has seen, and he can hardly imagine anyone in the Shining City allowing such imperfection to exist in their precious relic of the Seven. Then again, there's not a single knight brave enough to touch it.

And yet here Harm is, holding it and talking to it like a friend.

"You know, I used to be scared of you," he says thoughtfully. "How you were always watching me. I thought for sure I'd be found out. Turns out I was anyway." He laughs, quiet and reminiscent. "But it didn't really matter in the end." With a shake of his head, he remembers how he'd carried such great fear for so long, only to find it undone by a silent man who for some reason loved him back. "I never thought I'd live such a strange and wonderful life. But that's thanks to you, isn't it? I probably wouldn't have met them if it wasn't for you. And they'd both be dead ten times over without you. You've kept them safe."

Harm falls silent, considering all that he owes to Gamma's blade. To Gamma. He hasn't really thought about it until now, and it's a little unsettling. He doesn't like thinking about before, where his life might have gone had his future partner not been on a mission to return the sword to its home. "I've never thanked you for any of that. So... consider this a thanks. Whatever that's worth to you."

The wingtip touches his hand again. An acceptance. It doesn't retreat this time, and if Harm concentrates, he can feel an indistinct hum of power thrumming through the metal, vibrating into his skin. It's not exactly a safe feeling, but he knows that it won't hurt him. He tilts his head, trying to listen to that hum, to anything that it might be saying. He doesn't typically mind silence, but now that he's started talking, it's a little hard to stop.

"Vesper told us all about your journey south a few years ago," Harm says. "About... your body." Another tremor runs down the blade, rattling it in its sheath, and he pauses. But no further reaction is forthcoming, and the sword seems to lacks its usual anger. Harm has sensed less and less of that in recent times, now that he thinks about it. He's still not sure how much of the sword is Gamma and what that means, but he forges on. "I can't even imagine that kind of pain. I'm sorry." Even as he speaks, he winces at how inadequate condolences seem, but his tongue has a mind of its own, and most of the time, it does what it wills. "I hope... I hope you've been happy here, even so. I guess you're part of the family too. I hope that's helped."

For a moment, there is nothing but stillness, silence. Even Reela's muffled wailing is gone. Then the wingtip presses deeper into Harm's skin. Not painful, not even uncomfortable. Just trembling and tight. _It has,_ the contact says, not in words, but clear to Harm's ears regardless.

He smiles. "Good."

When Vesper returns, she finds Harm where she left him, seated in his chair. But now, the sword leans into the crook of his arm, cross-guard and wings resting against his shoulder, sheathed tip dangling towards the floor. An eye is open, unblinking, watching Harm as he speaks animatedly. Listening.

**Author's Note:**

> Delta's jealousy at seeing Harm and wondering why Gamma rejected her siblings for a new family got me hungry for some Harm + Malice interactions, and I'm trying to cope, thanks Pete.


End file.
